


upon deaf ears

by eggymcgreggy



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oneshot, it's been like 6 months and i have Not got better at doing tags ok, not really angst, ok so like kind of au but not really, patrick is weirdly environmentalistic, pete just kinda of is pete really, tHANK U, yeah i suck at tags i give up just please read i need it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 14:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20707760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggymcgreggy/pseuds/eggymcgreggy
Summary: Pete's band is two more failures away from ending up dead. So is Pete.And then one night a short environmentalist starts yelling at him to not litter.From there, it all changes.





	upon deaf ears

Pete stood outside the club, cigarette dangling loosely in his hands. 

The air was cool, and his heart had been broken for the 5th time that year by some girl with a wicked smile and manipulative eyes. 

Carrie..? yeah, he was pretty sure it was carrie, had left him for some douche who had once done a photo op for his shitty band that wasn’t going fucking anywhere. Said band was busy packing up their half destroyed second-hand instruments. Pete had left them to it, already too close to strangling them for fucking up pretty much all the songs in their set. 

God, some of these songs he’d written at like 16, and yet Joe still couldn’t get it right. He loved the man, and to be fair their drummer was fucking awful. If Brent could just do the one thing he was meant to do and actually keep time, then maybe Pete wouldn’t keep on having to fill his cancer stick addiction, and maybe make enough money to not be a disappointment to his parents for once. 

But for now, he blew smoke out of his mouth into the polluted night sky. Fuck this. He knew he had talent - yeah, he couldn’t sing, but he knew he could write lyrics for shit, and he was being wasted on this. 

And yet he knew nothing short of a miracle would change that. 

Pete dropped the finished cigarette onto the already dirty ground and stepped on it. 

“Dude, there’s a bin literally right next to you, but you still had to litter?” A tired and dismissive voice said from next to him. Pete looked up in slight surprise. The guy standing next to him had his arms crossed. 

“What’re you, the fuckin’ litter police?” Pete’s day (and week, and month, and year, and decade-) had been pretty shitty, and some random kid getting on his ass about littering was just enough to set him over the edge. The guy let out a humourless laugh. 

“Yeah, sure.” Upon closer look, Pete noticed that the guy, who was watching the people milling around outside for some fresh(er) air, was actually quite cute. Well, would’ve been, had he not started a conversation by talking about Pete’s littering habits. 

“Hey, were you the dude in that band earlier?” he suddenly asked. Pete nodded, hating the pang of shame hitting his chest. He looked back up at his new friend, who was grinning slightly. 

“Yeah. We fucked up all our songs, and our equipment’s shit, I know.” the guy shrugged. 

“Maybe so. Lyrics were good though.” Pete blinked. 

“Thanks, I guess.” he cocked his head, the grin from earlier still there. 

“No problem. You’re a good writer, but your talents are being wasted on a band that shit. Your singer can’t stay in tune, and your drummer can’t stay on beat. Guitarist was alright i guess, but that drummer fucked him up, and he clearly was too nervous in front of a crowd.” 

“And what about me?” he thought for a moment. 

“Well your writing’s great, and you’re good on bass as well. Did you write the tune and everything?” Pete nodded, curious to see where this would go. “I mean, the tunes aren’t great, if i’m being honest. That song...the one that went like -,” he hummed part of the chorus. Pete recognised it as one of his most recent ones. His bandmates never noticed but it was about how shitty they were. Joe would’ve been excused, had he not shown up to half their practises stoned and without any extra. 

“Who was it about?” Pete shrugged. 

“Bandmates. It’s not one I’m particularly proud of, but to be honest I’m not proud of anything at the moment.” the guy didn’t respond to that. 

“I’m Patrick, by the way,” he eventually said Pete nodded. 

“Pete. I’m guessing from that extremely accurate description of our awful excuse of a band that you work in music?” Patrick shrugged, shifting his weight on his feet. 

“I wanted to, but couldn’t.” 

“Why not?” Pete didn’t realise until he’d said it that he might’ve been prodding too far into Patrick with his curt question. 

“Well, my parents already disapprove of almost everything I do in life so I did what they wanted me to do with my career. I fucking hate it, though. But it’s probably too late for me.” he laughed again, any sign of humour long gone. 

“If it’s too late for you then it’s too late for me, but i’m still here.” 

“You’re not exactly doing great though,” Pete snorted. 

“Nah, but at least I’m doing what I love,” although that might be a bit of a stretch these days, considering he spends most of his waking moments either wasted or with a massive headache due to constant stress and lack of money. Patrick shrugged. 

“Fair enough.” it went silent between them for a few seconds, both men watching the others around them mill around. Pete considered lighting another cigarette, wondered how long Patrick’ll stay here before wandering off again. He realised he doesn’t want that to happen, that he liked talking to the guy. 

“What is it you actually do, then,” he eventually asked. He could feel Patrick turning to look at him, and he met his gaze. In the dark it was impossible to tell what colour his eyes were, and that impossibility made Pete want to know even more. 

“I work in sales.” Pete barked out a harsh laugh. 

“So you’re telling me that your parents didn’t want you fuckin’ around with a guitar or whatever but instead wanted a son with a 9-5 job? bullshit.” Patrick smiled wryly. 

“Yeah. I’m not gonna argue with them, it’s too late.” second time he’s said that, Pete mused. 

“How old are you, though, can’t be over 25,” he was small, and Pete could just make out a smooth face under the mess of light hair. Again, Pete reiterated to himself, this guy was cute. 

“19.” Pete gaped. 

“Fuck off, no way you’re that young and have already been stuck in some corporate machine, holy shit.” Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, thanks. Although, again, you only have my parents to blame. And at least I’m making money.” At that, Pete decided he deserved another cigarette. He could see Patrick judging him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t judge me, man, have you seen the shit I put up with everyday? I deserve this.” Patrick scoffed at him. 

“Right, of course.” It went silent between them. Pete wondered what his life would be like if he worked in an office job. He’d probably have enough money to buy a semi-decent apartment, rather than the rat-infested shithole he lived in. He’d probably also have crippling depression. Patrick was looking at him, he suddenly noticed. 

“If you’re so upset with your life, why don’t ya do something about it?” He asked. 

“Yeah, well, easier said than done. What am I supposed to do, huh? Make Joe stop smoking all the fuckin’ time so he can actually improve his guitar? Get better bandmates? D’ya know how hard it is to make a band - a full-time one at that?” Patrick shrugged. 

“No, but I know that you can’t just go around complaining about your entire life to random strangers you meet outside clubs.” With that, he turned around and left. 

Pete watched him go, and was about to throw his cigarette on the ground, before putting it out and then chucking it into the trash. 

—

They were across the street from the club they’d been at just under a year ago, having just played at a venue for starting bands, packing up the equipment into the van. Well, Pete was standing a few feet away, smoking a cigarette. 

Joe came up to him, and clapped his shoulder. “Dude, that was fucking insane! We fucking killed it! Did you see those few kids at the front? They were singing along!” Pete nodded, and laughed with him. It was insane, to be honest. Joe walked away again, grinning and shaking his head in disbelief. 

“We’re leaving in like, an hour or two. Want anything?” Andy called to Pete. He was their newest member, swapped out from Brent. He was a good drummer, and would only get better with time. Pete was still doing vocals, though, which was a problem. He couldn’t sing and he knew it. 

“Pretzels!” Pete yelled back. 

Pete looked across the street at the club. It was busy as ever. God, last year had been awful. Almost immediately after…his ex…had broken his heart, their singer had quit, saying that Pete was an asshole. He wasn’t wrong, but that had nothing to do with Pete’s work ethic. Not much of a waste, though. 

He threw the finished cigarette into the bin, briefly wondering if these would be the things to end his life, and whether that would be considered suicide. 

“Wow, you’ve changed.” A slightly familiar voice, like one heard in a dream, said. Pete looked over. Patrick was looking right back at him, smiling slightly. 

“You could say that. I mean, it has been a year and all. Most people change within an amount of time that long.” Patrick rolled his eyes. He could see him better now, even if his face was illuminated by blue and red lights. 

“Yeah, no shit. I was talking about the littering. Finally my lecturing paid off to someone.” Pete remembered how they’d met (had they ever properly met?). He’d never realised that he’d stopped littering. “Oh, and the band. You got a new drummer.” 

“You were there?” He asked, surprised. Why Patrick would remember him was beyond him. 

“Yeah. I love that place. Had you got an actual singer, you would’ve been the best act there in a while. Saw some guy writing stuff down ‘bout you. He’s there often, doesn’t really do that. Ever.” Pete rolled his eyes. 

“Great. Some creep was writing down that we were good. Always nice to hear.” Patrick snorted. “How’s your job?” Patrick responded, and they soon fell into easy conversation. It was weird how easy it was to talk to this guy he barely knew, and Pete figured that was the reason why. It was unlikely he’d see Patrick again, and therefore was easier just to chat. 

“You’re doing better, though, aren’t you?” Patrick said, cocking his head slightly. Pete shrug-nodded. 

“I guess so. Still making like no money, ever, so that’s not great, but I’m definitely in a lot better of a place than I was last year.” 

“I can tell. Last year you looked like utter shit.” Pete laughed. 

“Thanks, man.” Patrick blanked. 

“Not like that! I mean, uh, your clothes were dirty and worn, your hair hadn’t been washed in ages, and the bags under your eyes -,” he squinted under his glasses. “- actually you still have those. Nevermind.” Pete took the moment to properly look at him again. He had a kind face, and the glasses made him look so innocent that you felt a need to protect him. Under his weird cap, he could see the ends of fluffy ginger-ish hair, and a part of Pete really wanted to just run his hands through it. 

He kind of reminded Pete of an angel. Maybe he didn’t actually exist. 

“Uh, your drummer’s calling you,” Patrick suddenly said, snapping Pete out of his mind. He looked over, to see Andy and Joe frantically trying to get his attention. He sighed, and put his hand out to Patrick. 

“Was nice to see you again, dude. Don’t let those corporate people get you down, you’re too good for that.” Patrick shook his hand. 

“Make some goddamn money, Pete. And get a singer.” Pete shrugged. 

“See you around, Trick.” He walked off, only looking back when he reached the van. Patrick was still standing there, watching him. 

“Who’s that?” Joe asked, as he sat shotgun. Pete shrugged. 

“Not really sure.” 

—

A few more months went by. They ended up playing a lot of garages, and starter venues. To be honest, they could probably get a lot further, but hadn’t actually got a name yet. Or a singer, for that matter. 

Currently it was almost 12am, and they were sitting in Joe’s apartment. Joe’s girlfriend was there with them. They’d been together for a while, and Pete was pretty sure they actually lived together. 

“You guys need a singer.” Marie said. She was playing with Joe’s hair, while he plucked aimlessly on his guitar. Pete groaned. 

“Singers don’t grow on fucking trees, dude. And I’m pretty sure any decent singer who doesn’t wanna go solo has already been snatched up.” She shrugged. 

“I mean, I know a guy.” Joe looked at her. 

“You do?” She nodded. 

“Yeah, went to high school together.” She sighed at her boyfriend, who was still giving her that incredulous look. “He’s gay, Joe, I didn’t fuck him.” Joe seemed happy with that, and went back to his guitar. Marie turned back to Pete. “Yeah, he’s pretty open about it, and works at some shitty job he absolutely loathes. If you want I could get him to come see you guys some time?” Pete looked at Andy, who nodded. 

“That’s great!” Andy exclaimed, then looked doubtful. “I mean, if you’re sure he can actually sing. Anything better than Pete really,” Pete threw his guitar pick at Andy’s head. Marie nodded. 

“Trust me, he’s seriously good, he’s just got some stage fright, so might take some time to get better in front of lots of people. But I’ve heard him when he thought he was alone. Dude can seriously sing.” 

“Then that’d be fuckin’ perfect, thank you so much,” Pete said. She shrugged nonchalantly. 

“No promises. He might not want to.” 

—

A few days later when Pete was doing a night shift at a gas station, he got a text. 

Marie: he’s in, come to Joe’s tomorrow 5ish :)

For once, Pete didn’t get yelled at by the manager due to attitude problems. 

—

Pete ended up being late to Joe’s, due to traffic. When he opened the door to the apartment. (which was basically one room and a bathroom), he immediately noticed the newcomer. 

“So this is our singer, yeah?” He turned around, and Pete stopped short. “Holy shit, litter guy!” Pete most definitely did remember his name, but thought it might be weird. They’d only seen each other twice. Patrick grinned sheepishly. 

“Yeah…that’s, uh, not what I want to be known for,” Pete rolled his eyes. Marie looked between them, confused. 

“You know each other?” 

“Not really? We’ve seen each other twice. First time he yelled at me -,” 

“I did not yell,”

“- for throwing my cigarette on the floor. Second time was, uh,” Pete wasn’t really sure what to say about the second time. “Anyway, you wanna sing?” Patrick looked offended. 

“I’m not doing a goddamn solo while you all watch me, Pete,” thankfully Joe stepped in.

“I figured we’d all do something together. You know Nirvana?” Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I don’t live under a rock, dude,” Patrick and Pete argued about which song to do, before eventually settling on one, and then the four launched into it while Marie watched from the beaten sofa. Pete didn’t want to think about what that sofa had gone through. 

It was the first time he’d felt like he was making music, rather than just playing it. Patrick’s voice wasn’t perfect, but it was clearly just to nerves that made him waver and sometimes stumble. Occasionally he’d look over at Pete, who would shoot him a massive grin. When they finished, Marie clapped loudly. 

“Patrick, wanna join a band?” Pete asked, grinning and sweating slightly. Patrick, with the exact same expression, looked at him. 

“You don’t even have to ask.” 

The rest of the night was spent just hanging out together as to avoid Joe’s neighbours getting angry and beating the shit out of them. Pete had a tendency to leave his songs everywhere, and Patrick came across four year’s worth of songs on a desk, and began looking through them. He sat next to Pete. 

“Nice to see you again,” he commented. Pete smiled wryly. 

“Didn’t think it’d happen again. I guess our paths are meant to be entwined.” Patrick rolled his eyes. 

“Right, because that’s a thing. These lyrics are seriously good, have you got any of them turned into songs?” Pete shook his head. 

“Oh, wait, like one.” He pulled an almost destroyed page out of the pile. “Ok, it’s just chord progression, but it counts.” Patrick began humming under his breath, concentrating on the page. The song wasn’t Pete’s favourite, but the tune Patrick was giving it was definitely working. “Jesus, you would’ve been so wasted at an office job.” He commented. Patrick turned slightly red. 

“Shut up,” he muttered. Pete smiled at that insanely cute reaction. Although he figured falling for a bandmate wasn’t exactly the best idea, he tried to figure that it wouldn’t count has he’d known Patrick before the band. That was utter bullshit, but it worked in Pete’s mind. 

“Welcome to crash on the sofa if y’want, but we’re off to bed. Night y’all.” Joe said. It was 3am. Andy had left god knows how long ago, but Pete had been so focused on Patrick and how he was transforming his words into songs that he didn’t notice. They both looked up from their pages, now more covered in chords and allusions to tunes. Pete’s hands were stained with ink. 

“Oh, shit, we’ll leave you.” Pete said, standing up and taking the papers. He most definitely wasn’t ready to sleep yet, or maybe ever, with the excitement of Patrick’s joining not worn off. They left the apartment, Patrick waving goodbye to Joe, and stood outside the door facing each other. 

“I’m not gonna sleep.” Patrick said. 

“Neither. Wanna get food?” Patrick looked down at his stomach, as if asking it a question. 

“Only if it’s godawful deep-fried pizza.” 

“It’s Chicago, idiot.” They left, only getting yelled at once by Joe’s insanely old neighbour, and Pete led the way to a 24/7 food place. They sat down, chatting endlessly about everything.

To them, the night was still young, and full of a promise of a future together. Their music wouldn’t fall upon deaf ears, as long as they had each other. Because together what they could create was unstoppable. 

—

Four hours later, and they were sitting at the top of a mountain looking over the city. It had long since become daylight, but neither of them had mentioned anything about going back to the real world. The adrenaline of new possibilities hadn’t worn off, and Pete wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to. 

“Fuck, how have I ever lived without you?” He asked. “You’re changing my life, Trick,” Patrick laughed. 

“I’ve known you for a day.” Pete looked at him.

“We both know that’s not true. It’s been so much longer than that, man. Come on, admit it - it’s meant to be!” Patrick laughed again, but quieter this time. More sober, as if he had realised something. 

“What…what do you mean by that?” He asked quietly, staring at his hands. Pete shrugged. 

“Don’t know yet. Something amazing, though. In a few years we’ll be immortalised for our music. Kids from all over the world will listen to our shit.” 

“Kids? I’m not making nursery rhymes, and judging by your lyrics I don’t think you should be either,” Pete shoved him. 

“Ass. Teens, then. The ones who get left out and need someone to listen to them, to understand them. That’ll be us. We’ll pick up the remains of the nuclear fallout.” Patrick hummed. 

“Nuclear fallout, huh.” He looked like he was thinking about something, but didn’t say. He turned to Pete, so that they were facing each other straight on, and then suddenly looked down again. “You think we can do this? I…I dunno if Marie told you, but up on stage -,” Pete put his hand on Patrick’s hand. 

“Trick, you sound like an angel. We all thought so. You’re perfect, and I wouldn’t have any other singer in the world.” He paused. “Ok well it’s Joe’s band, but like, personally I wouldn’t.” Patrick smiled, now looking back up at him, and Pete’s world shrunk to that and only that. 

They were silent, for a few minutes, until Patrick turned his hand over, so that their palms were pressed against each other. Pete didn’t move, except to entwine their fingers. Patrick smiled again, and Pete made a decision that he thought, despite literally everything that was going on, could be a bad one. 

He leant in. So did Patrick. 

And now, Pete had kissed a lot of girls in his life. Most while drunk. None of them had been anything like this — none of them had felt like something he hadn’t even realised he’d been missing in his life, but now he couldn’t live without. Patrick was soft, and pulling away for breath was the most devastating thing Pete had ever done. They stared at each other. 

“This could be a bad idea, what if we break -,” Pete shook his head. He’d never felt more sure about anything before. 

“Trick, baby, this is the only thing in my life that makes sense. It can’t be a bad idea.” And with that, Patrick smiled and leant in again.

**Author's Note:**

> YES i know i haven't finished the holistic assassin one and it's been over a month but i finished this at like 3am and i crave death aha x


End file.
